


Explicit

by ladysisyphus



Series: Wolves [12]
Category: Fargo (2014)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-08
Updated: 2014-07-08
Packaged: 2018-02-08 00:52:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1920513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladysisyphus/pseuds/ladysisyphus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Numbers didn't know the sign for 'moody' and had enough of a sense of self-preservation not to ask.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Explicit

Numbers didn't know the sign for 'moody' and had enough of a sense of self-preservation not to ask. All right, so they hadn't seen one another in a week; they were here now, in ths obnoxiously noisy bar, drinking their mediocre beer and watching the Seahawks kick the tar out of the Oilers, together. There wasn't much reason left for Wrench to be a grump, but sure enough, he'd somehow found enough to manage.

Still, it _was_ the first time in a week Numbers had seen his friend (his _best_ friend, he'd said the last time they were together, because _best_ was as true as _only_ and sounded better anyway) and that felt better than he knew how to express, speaking or otherwise. It'd only been a week and change since he'd met Meg, but already she'd bullied her way into staying a night over at his place (during which time if she'd found anything contraband, she hadn't said) and getting him two nights over at hers, and it had been great, and they were having a good time -- but every so often he found himself inquiring about the location of an item or wondering what she wanted for breakfast and asking first with his hands.

But there was no way he knew to explain _sometimes I forget when I'm talking to my girlfriend that she isn't my partner_ either, so Numbers didn't even go there, not in either direction.

Lucky for him, she found it cute every time and even expressed some interest in learning, though she kept spelling her own name M-E-H and couldn't seem to remember the difference between 'please' and 'thank you', which Numbers felt was pretty basic. She'd _also_ expressed some interest in meeting the friend who'd taught him in the first place, and explaining why that wasn't such a good idea was getting harder all the time.

He'd been making bad choices enough that evening, though, ordering the tequila chasers (or, really, harbingers) with his beer, which was probably why he thought it was a good idea to take the otherwise mundane lesson they'd been having before -- T-A-P, S-C-O-T-C-H, P-O-O-L, D-A-R-T-S -- and ask, How about B-L-O-W-J-O-B?

He felt sorry right afterwards for the way that made Wrench choke on his beer, getting a little foam all over his stubbly upper lip. He wiped it away with a napkin before responding, You mean the sign.

Yes, yes, the sign. There's a sign, right? Numbers had encountered a number of concepts, especially three-letter ones, where Wrench had told him just to spell them out (and boy, had G-A-Y ever been tersely on that list), but he didn't think even deaf people would be willing to go through that many letters every time they wanted head.

Wrench sighed. You got it right the first time, he signed, the right corner of his mouth upturned in a sad little half-smile.

The first time--? Numbers started to sign, but oh, he remembered. It seemed cruel to make the official sign for something the same as what a hearing person (and an idiot hearing person who _still_ felt guilty about that, to boot) might mime as an insult. The Numbers paused and narrowed his eyes at Wrench: Are you messing with me?

That spread the smile the rest of the length of Wrench's face. I promise, he signed with a nod; signs can be E-X-P-L-I-C-I-T sometimes. He thought about it for a moment, then added: There _is_ another one, but it looks like the sign for M-A-S-T-U-R-B-A-T-I-O-N, so maybe that's not a lot better.

Now you _have_ to show me. Numbers folded his arms across his chest and waited.

With all the didactic seriousness of a world-wise schoolboy teaching his playground friends by pointing to pictures in a dirty magazine -- and for all Numbers knew, that's exactly how Wrench had learned all this in the first place -- Wrench made an H shape with one hand and a B shape with the other, then proceeded to use the space between his palm and thumb on the latter to fellate the former. Numbers echoed the sign, and Wrench gave it a nod.

Sometimes the location of things changed a lot, though, so for clarity's sake, Numbers held up the B hand, the 'mouth' hand of the gesture, a moment longer and pointed to it, then asked, For a man and a woman, the same?

The expression on Wrench's face was the definition of unreadable, but he nodded.

So how do you make it M-A-S-T-U-R-B-A-T-I-O-N?

A wry grin curled the edge of Wrench's mouth as he formed his right hand into a fist and made exaggerated jerk-off motions, complete with rolled eyes. Numbers laughed and signed, Really?

Wrench held up his hands in a 'come _on_ ' gesture: Why is everyone so surprised? Deaf people aren't going to avoid a good sign just because hearing people know it too.

Okay, okay, Numbers signed with one hand, grinning as he drank his beer with the other. He thought about taking the next logical step and asking about the female variant, but he didn't know which thought stopped him more: that Wrench might not know it, or that he _would_ and the ensuing demonstration would involve gestures that raised more than a few eyebrows around them. Instead, he shifted in a bit more general direction: What about S-E-X?

Wrench made both of his hands into V shapes and held them apart long enough for Numbers to see, then turned them in until they were mirrors of one another and knocked them together. Well, that was pretty much self-explanatory. Numbers copied the gesture and Wrench nodded, then took the little V-people his hands had become on an exciting tour of positions: one tapping down on the other, both side by side, one where the fingers of one hand were clearly straddling the other, and so forth. And what a versatile sign it was too.

Even so, thinking about it in terms of versatility gave Numbers pause. He made the sign again, considering his hands, then looked back to Wrench: Is that -- and he hesitated only a moment before his brain pushed him right on through to the end of the question - G-A-Y?

By all rights, he should have gotten a bloody lip or at _least_ a beer dumped over his head for being such a jackass, and he knew it before his fingers had finished the third letter. But Wrench considered him instead, turning on him the hard eye he used when trying to tell truth from a lie. It had been an honest question, though -- Numbers didn't want it for mockery, he wanted it because his curiosity was genuine, if a bit invasive from time to time. Wrench held up two I hands, then paused: You mean A-N-A-L?

Numbers supposed he did. He nodded, and in response Wrench shoved the pinky of one hand repeatedly into the fist of the other. Fair enough, Numbers thought as he repeated the gesture, then pointed to the penetrated hand and asked: What if that's a woman? Numbers shrugged and did it again, only this time dropping the pinky of the hand in question back into the rest of the fist.

And this would have been the point where, at any other time in his adult life, with any other male friends, he would have brought up Meg: She'd asked for that, in fact, the second time they'd had sex at her house, and in a way that indicated she didn't consider it just her doing him a favor. He'd been more than happy to oblige, and she'd loved it and been great at it, and if _that_ wasn't something a man could consider worth bragging about to his buddies, he didn't know what was. Having a girlfriend eleven years younger than you who was perky and cute and always ready for all kinds of sex was the perfect guy-talk topic.

He didn't dare now. Wrench's argument that Numbers needed to keep his professional and private lives separate made perfect sense, except for how no one else in the syndicate did it -- at least, not when it came to women, and the sexing-up thereof. He'd caught the edge of Wrench's discomfort the first time he'd brought her up, and he wasn't about to ask or even let himself speculate on the reasons behind. That way was sown with landmines.

Looking at Wrench now, watching the way the neon bar signs caught the stubbled curve of his jaw as his eyes tracked the Oilers' ongoing defeat, Numbers made a connection he hadn't before: Meg and Wrench were the same age. But twenty-four looked a lot different on a waitress who'd just moved out of her grandparents' basement and a ... well, whatever Wrench was. A lot of things and nothing expected. A rare tropical bird that had found itself snowbound and instead of flying home, stayed. A friend. A _best_ friend, for someone just as out of place.

And he was a weirdo and a half for thinking of it like that. Okay, okay, Numbers signed, waving to get Wrench's attention; when he had it, he asked: What about a H-A-N-D-J-O-B?

The pause before Wrench answered wasn't long, but it was telling in its own way: You mean the sign.

Of course the sign, said Numbers, not really ready to dwell on how there was no 'of course' about it.

Guess, Wrench signed with a smirk, and he leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms.

Well, great. Numbers quirked his mouth to this side as he considered the possibilities presented to him by his limited knowledge and limited vocabulary. Well, sometimes the most obvious way was the best. He held out both his hands flat, palms facing his chest, and swiped them against one another before changing them into fists and rapping one on top of the other: hand, job.

Wrench covered his mouth with his fingers and his shoulders shook for a moment. When he took his hand away, his mouth had mostly composed itself again, but his eyes were bright with the effort of holding back laughter. He took a deep breath and signed: Too-- Wrench made the sign for 'word' and hopped it left to right across his chest, and when Numbers frowned, he spelled instead: L-I-T-E-R-A-L.

Well, then, maybe the problem hadn't been his approach; maybe the problem was he hadn't been obvious _enough_. After a moment's consideration, he took his hand and made it into an O shape, then reached it halfway across the table between them and made the same up-and-down gestures Wrench had used earlier.

Still smiling, Wrench brought out his hands in front of him and gave a polite, silent golf clap. With his hand still circled around some imaginary penis, Numbers swept his right arm toward his chest and took a well-earned seated bow.

**Author's Note:**

> So if you ever wanted to know a LOT of dirty ASL, well, here you go! There are variants for all of these, of course, but these'll get your meaning across. And all credit for the sign work, as always, goes to Rel, who took her previous knowledge and braved a [deeply inscrutable dictionary](http://theinterpretersfriend.org/tech/vocab/a.html) to make sure we got them all right.


End file.
